


Sometimes, When You're in Afghanistan...

by SueG5123



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 22:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6169855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SueG5123/pseuds/SueG5123





	Sometimes, When You're in Afghanistan...

“You know Mike?”

Jim Harper extended his hand to the man with the blue suit and the noticeably short haircut. “Yeah, we talk on the phone a lot. Good to see you again.” They pumped hands.

Will gestured for them to take seats around his table.

“Jim, I asked Mike to bring me some information. Since it concerns you, I thought you should probably be here as well. And—“ Will paused, “you also bring a perspective that I want to hear.”

Jim laced his fingers, curious but assured. “Sure, Will.”

Will turned to Mike Tapley, career military officer and now frequent on-air ACN resource for national defense matters. Tapley opened a zippered brief and withdrew a folder. “Mustafa Abu al-Yazif. Killed by a drone strike last year.”

Jim sat bolt upright. The other two men seemed oblivious to his sudden interest.

“In 2008, Danish newspapers ran an editorial cartoon featuring a figure identified as the prophet Mohammed. Four months later, in Islamabad, a car bomb exploded at the Danish Embassy. Eight dead, 28 wounded.” Tapley slid a stack of photographs across the table to Will. “Not pretty to look at, I’m afraid.”

Tapley sighed. “You can imagine the rest, I guess. Protests in the streets in Islamabad and throughout Pakistan.”

“We were there—“ Jim began, before realizing that the other men knew that. That’s why he had been brought into the meeting. “We interviewed Mustafa Abu al-Yazif the day before.”

Will leaned back in his chair. “Tell me.”

Jim shook his head. “Mac and I and our videographer were on our own. There was a fixer, a local journalist, who promised to get us the interview with al-Yazif.”

“How’d that go?”

“Fucked from the beginning. They were no-shows to the meet place. When we got hold of the fixer and he got hold of them, there was suddenly a lot of ‘We don’t want to waste time with the infidel dogs.’ We talked some more and they finally agreed to meet… but this time it was clear that this would be an ideological rant rather than an interview. They were gonna send a car to take us to al-Yazif. But, you know, it just didn’t _feel_ right. We normally went to them, not the other way ‘round. I wanted to pull chocks then.”

“But Mac wanted to go ahead?”

“She did, but that wasn’t her being reckless. She’d done this before; of the three of us, she was the one with the field experience. She trusted the fixer and had worked with him before.” 

“You trusted her.”

“Of course,” Jim said. “And it all seemed to go fine. The car picked us up and took us to a dusty camp about seventy miles away. Lots of goats and barefoot kids. We met al-Yazif and did the interview – he seemed to have a good understanding of English when it suited him; that is, I think he understood most of our questions. We had to use our fixer to translate al-Yazif’s responses because of his accent.” Jim frowned at the memory. “I should probably mention this – we didn’t talk much about it at the time, it was just one of those things about being in the Middle East. You knew you would encounter certain – attitudes. And, well, Al-Yazif and his people didn’t hide their disdain for women. He addressed all his statements to me, or to the fixer. When Mac would ask him a question, he tried to feign not understanding. She was pretty frustrated, we all were. It gummed up the flow of the interview.” He shrugged. “But we got through it. Then the car brought us back and we were checking the footage at the hotel a few hours later.”

“Rudeness to Mac notwithstanding, then, your misgivings had been groundless?” Will thumbed through the stack of photographs. “But then you found yourself on the front lines, didn’t you?”

Jim chewed his lower lip. “Next day. We were taping the outro to the interview with al-Yazif. Mac wanted the shot with the Danish embassy behind her. Burned out cars were still in the square and there was a partial barricade of the front of the embassy. There were a lot of people around, but we hadn’t been specifically warned of hostility. We took precautions, we always did—“

“What sort of precautions?”

“Kevlar vests, for one. Mac always said that we should worry about the stray bullets in small wars, so we usually wore a little bit of armor. She insisted we wear the Kevlar, all the time.” Jim shook his head again. “We were careful. There were risks, but we managed them when we couldn’t avoid them entirely. You know, the funny thing, the irony is that this was a safe assignment. We were off the line, away from the war. No IEDs in Pakistan. There were hotels that had something like western comforts. You could even find Coca-cola, you know?”

They looked up at a warning knock, but the door was already closing behind Charlie Skinner. “Mike,” he said, nodding acknowledgment to Tapley. “What’s this little séance about?” His eyes danced between the men before locking with Will’s.

Will broke his eyes away first. “We’re doing a forensic analysis of an event that happened in Islamabad a few years ago. Mike brought some information; Jim was there.”

Charlie leaned against the bookcase and nodded. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

Jim caught Will’s jaw torque.

“Where was the military unit you were embedded with?”

“Back in Afghanistan, man. We weren’t at war with Pakistan. We were just journalists who took a short detour so we could interview this HVT. That is, High Value Target.”

“I know the lingo, Scooter,” Will said with mild annoyance. “When did things go south?”

Tapley cleared his throat. “I talked to some friends over at State Department, and they’re still unsure of the exact sequence of events.” He shrugged. “It’s a volatile region. There had been recent violence directed at a western nation. Mustafa Abu al-Yazif was the local rabble rouser. It seems to have been a confluence of events, and your friends just were caught in the middle. The wrong place at the wrong time.”

Will looked impatient at Tapley’s explanation and turned back to Jim. “What did you see?”

“Well, the square suddenly got very crowded. And it didn’t seem that the people had any context for being there; they were just there, milling around. Waiting, almost. We were having problems with the sound levels, so we were doing the shot for the third time. And it just seemed – ridiculously crowded all of a sudden. We couldn’t get a clear shot. There were now people between me and Finn – our videographer – and Mac. We knew it wasn’t going to work, that we’d either have to work with what we had already or do it again the next day. I think we were all getting a little antsy by then. Even Mac. She began walking toward us when she suddenly seemed to stumble – the crowd was really thick and I couldn’t tell what had happened. She had this expression of surprise, then she sank out of my sight.”

Jim paused and swallowed. “People were between us, I lost sight of her.”

Charlie straightened. “What is this about, Will?”

Will held up the flat of his hand, willing patience. “Go on. What happened next?”

Jim winced and exhaled in an ugly sound. “It isn’t that easy,” he protested. “We didn’t know – it took seconds to know – even minutes.” He ran his palm over his mouth before speaking again. “Mac was coming toward us, she stopped, and I pushed through the crowd to get to her. By this time, she was on the tarmac and there was just – blood – everywhere. Someone had ripped her open –it was awful.”

“Will—“ Charlie cautioned again.

Will’s eyes were pinched closed and his breathing was short bursts of exhales. 

Jim’s head sunk and shook. “Jesus. I grabbed her – she’s not a big woman but I’m not a big guy, you know? Maybe it was just adrenaline but I was able to get her up and start for where Finn was. He had dropped the camera and was running to the vehicle.”

“No military?”

“I told you, man, the Marines were _persona non grata_ in Pakistan. We were on our own.” Jim took a deep breath. “Finn drove us to the nearest clinic, a little cinderblock place a few blocks away. They couldn’t do much for her there: ice packs to slow the bleeding, a compression bandage, directions to the helo pad. Luckily, a medevac helo was was there and turning, and it took her out, first to a Navy fleet hospital for stabilization, then later she was transferred to the Army hospital in Germany.”

Jim looked as if he was capable of no further words. Will said nothing and his eyes were closed. There was a protracted period of silence.

Looking distinctly uncomfortable, Tapley suddenly rose and held a thumb drive out for Will. “I don’t recommend you look at it unless you have to, though. It’s – raw.”

“Wait—“ Jim exploded. “Where did you get that?”

Tapley spread his hands, palms up. “It came from State – not because of McHale, but because of the protest footage.”

Will took the thumb drive from the other man. He rose. “Mike, I appreciate this.”

Charlie swore. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Jim was sputtering in his chair. “There wasn’t supposed to be – I mean, we tried to prevent any release – for Mac’s sake…”

“Good to see you again, Jim.” Mike Tapley turned back to the anchor and nodded. Then, “Charlie.” He exited through the glass door.

As soon as he was gone, Charlie moved to confront Will. “Why are you pursuing this? She’s more than just collateral damage. Leave her some dignity, man!”

Charlie’s words broke Jim’s paralysis. He looked up. “Will, don’t do this to her—“

“What am I doing to her?” Will returned. “I just want to know what happened.”

Charlie was shaking his head in a theatrical manner. “You know what happened. Hell, they just told you what happened. You’re looking for a way to push it in her face.”

Charlie’s words left Will looking stricken. “She left me for this, Charlie,” he said, displaying the thumb drive. “I have to know why she left me—“

“She left because you told her to go. She went to what she knew.” Charlie’s face squashed in pain. “She did what you told her, she behaved with nothing but courage and self-abnegation. She hasn’t worn any of these events on her sleeve. She’s never asked for recognition on account of it. She damned near became a headline instead of a byline, and she deserves the dignity of being allowed to keep her pain to herself.” 

Charlie drew a breath. “Will, for God’s sake, I love you but I will not have you use Mackenzie’s pain for your private ends. ” He leaned closer. “And that film, you need to destroy it. It would chill my soul to see Mackenzie hurt like that. I can’t do it. And I’m surprised that you could.”

Charlie’s appraisal was stark and it hurt. Will dropped his eyes. “I have to know what happened.”

“And once more I say, they just told you what happened.”

“Scooter is a partisan, Tapley wasn’t there.”

Charlie’s hand closed around the thumb drive Will held. “You weren’t there, either, son. Take some things on faith.”

Will’s fingers released the thumb drive to Charlie’s grip.

Jim rose shakily. “Will, you’re the boss and you can fire me if you want. But I told you this before, Mac did absolutely nothing to put us in danger. She was never less than heroic in the 23 months we were over there. So if you’re thinking about some way to turn this against her –”

“Sit the fuck back down,” Will hissed, shaking his head. “You are not going to be her first defender—“

“Like hell!—“

“—because _I_ am.” Will looked to Charlie, his expression apologetic but without the words. “I am. I was supposed to be the one to take care of her. I’m not looking for a way to shove it in her face, I’m trying to shove my own face in it.”

He ran a hand through his hair and sank wearily into a chair.

“William—whether for her sake or your own -- don’t pick at this scab,” Charlie said quietly. In a quick fluid movement, he slipped the thumb drive into his jacket pocket and put his hand on Will’s shoulder.

“William,” Jim echoed. “Will is a nickname for William,” he said slowly. “What about Billy? Isn’t Billy also a diminutive for William?”

Charlie stared at Jim, unsure of his meaning. Will, meanwhile, raised his eyes with a sick expression.

“You’re Billy,” Jim continued. “I guess I’m stupid, but I never put it together until now. Billy. I heard your name a lot that day. In the square, before she lost consciousness. On the drive to the clinic, when she was fading in and out. At the helo pad, I couldn’t hear because of the noise, but I could still see her lips forming your name…”

Will’s eyes had taken a haunted light and he winced anew with each recollection Jim uttered.

Charlie cautioned Jim with his eyes.

“Billy probably kept her alive that day,” Jim said quietly. “The thought of him. If that was you –“

He looked between the other two men. “I’m missing the four o’clock. She’ll wonder where I am. I need to go.”

Charlie nodded and the door closed silently behind Jim.

“You okay, Will? Will?”

“I’m okay, Charlie.” Will sighed heavily. “Those insinuations from Nina Howard – I just needed to know what had really happened.”

“And are you glad to know now?”

Will gave a bitter laugh. “Not at all.”


End file.
